Chapter 134: You're Not Vieira, and You're Not Even Close
"Li Ang's grounded through ball! What a pass! Cristiano Ronaldo controls it, keeps pushing forward… he shoots from distance!!! WAH—!!! IT'S IN! JOE HART COULDN'T GET TO IT! WHAT A STUNNING STRIKE! Real Madrid break the deadlock in the first half with an absolute screamer!"
As He Wei's excited commentary paused for a breath, Coach Zhang, speaking from the studio, didn't hesitate to call out the problem.
"Ah… that was a goalkeeping error. Joe Hart's reaction was just too slow. He didn't even come close to the ball. That wasn't a close-range effort—it was almost a 30-meter shot. That really shouldn't have gone in."
He Wei, in his heart, actually wanted to say:
Come on, Joe Hart always reacts like this to worldies. Calling it a mistake is a bit harsh—it's just his bad luck.
But thinking about the considerable number of Premier League and England fans watching back home, he quickly adjusted his tone.
"Maybe it was just that Ronaldo's strike came too suddenly—and was too brilliant. You don't see many saves like that, but you also don't see many goals like that either. Hart probably just didn't expect Ronaldo to shoot from that position and distance."
"City are really on the back foot now. With that goal, Madrid can fully pull back into their shape and start hitting on the counter.
Having four attacking midfielders pushed so high up… honestly, they'd be better off pulling Barry back to sit with Javi García as a double pivot. Yaya Touré just doesn't track back. If he doesn't work with Barry to close down space in the center, City's midfield is going to get ripped wide open."
After offering a bit of cover for Joe Hart, Coach Zhang shook his head and bluntly pointed out Manchester City's tactical missteps—not just in their formation, but perhaps even in squad selection.
Why not call it a tactical failure outright?
Because Mancini's 4-1-4-1 actually looked bold on paper and, in theory, had merit.
With Silva and Nasri up top, and Yaya Touré and Barry behind them, they had both the technique and the physicality to go toe-to-toe with Real Madrid's midfield.
Pushing the back line wider was also a decent plan to cut off Madrid's counterattacks down the wings.
After all, Touré and Barry were positioned as attacking mids when on the ball—but they were supposed to drop deeper to form a defensive wall in front of Javi García once possession was lost.
Silva and Nasri would press Madrid's flanks early.
Touré and Barry would cut off Madrid's central transitions.
On paper, the plan was solid.
But here was the issue:
Yaya Touré just didn't like tracking back.
Sure, he could do it on occasion. But asking him to stay locked in defensively for a full 90 minutes? Forget it.
After winning the Premier League title last season, Mancini seemed to have overestimated the extent of his own authority.
He actually thought he could change Yaya Touré's playing style.
And now, he was paying the price for that confidence.
While Real Madrid were celebrating, Mancini stood frozen, his face slowly registering the blow.
He looked over at his players—some visibly shaken—and then turned to the one man who looked completely unfazed: Yaya Touré.
His expression grew complicated. It was love-hate, all at once.
Chances were, Yaya didn't even feel like the goal was his fault.
He'd probably blame Barry's lack of pace, or García's overly conservative positioning, or even Maicon's failure to keep up with Ronaldo at the end.
But he wouldn't take responsibility himself.
Because that's who he was now—a midfielder with the physicality of Vieira, but none of the defensive grit.
A "team leader" without accountability.
Meanwhile, Mourinho had no time to sympathize with Mancini's tactical collapse.
He was already tweaking instructions on the fly, signaling his players to stay compact. No unnecessary pressing. No reckless surges forward.
This was a Champions League group stage match, and it was the first game of the new campaign. A solid win mattered far more than a dazzling performance.
So after kickoff resumed, Madrid didn't capitalize on their momentum by swarming City. Instead, they calmly dropped back into shape, inviting City to cross the halfway line again.
But Mancini wasn't so reckless anymore either.
No matter how frustrated he was, he wasn't about to bench Yaya Touré right then and there. That was his midfield centerpiece—he had to live with it.
Instead, Barry dropped back to sit alongside García in a double pivot, and City shifted into a 4-3-3.
Yaya pushed forward. Silva and Nasri drifted wider.
They gave Yaya the center, letting him do what he liked best—attack.
Li Ang saw the shift and didn't back down.
Either he or Sergio Ramos would have to go toe-to-toe with Touré. And this job, naturally, fell to Li Ang.
Alonso's energy was better spent launching counters and keeping the game ticking. Modrić could drop deeper to help cover the flanks or midfield lines as needed.
But Li Ang? He'd be the one to go to war with Touré.
Because in midfield, especially in these Champions League showdowns, you could not retreat.
Step back even once, and the whole defense could unravel.
Li Ang understood this was going to be a slugfest. He had great respect for Touré's offensive abilities—which only made him double down on his own resolve.
He was ready to take the hit, ready to go all-in. Even if he couldn't overpower Touré, he'd still throw himself at him, no matter the cost.
Touré, on the other hand, had more mixed feelings.
He actually respected Li Ang.
After all, he had played with Messi during their Barça days, and he knew how devastating Leo could be.
If Li Ang was capable of disrupting Messi one-on-one and limiting his influence, then there was no doubt—Li Ang's defensive level was elite.
But at the same time, Touré couldn't help but feel that Li Ang was overhyped.
Especially after Real Madrid had racked up five trophies in a single year.
In his mind, Li Ang was the textbook case of a player made famous by circumstance.
The English media, in particular, had been ridiculous—putting Li Ang in the conversation for top five defensive midfielders in the world, even suggesting he might break into the top three.
Touré was fuming.
A 21-year-old kid, no matter how good defensively, doesn't deserve to be compared to him—just because he had the good fortune to play for Real Madrid and rack up some silverware?
What kind of joke was that?
Being ranked on his level?
In Yaya Touré's mind, that wasn't just wrong—it was an insult.
And so, in that moment, this wasn't just another Champions League group stage match.
It was personal.
Chapter 134: You're Not Vieira, and You're Not Even Close
After last season ended, Li Ang had hogged the spotlight in the media, and quite a bit of it too—something Yaya Touré simply couldn't stomach.
Now, finally given the chance to go head-to-head with Li Ang, Touré was brimming with confidence, certain he could win the one-on-one matchup, just as he had bulldozed countless opponents in the Premier League.
But the first time the two clashed physically, both felt it. Li Ang grimaced, but Touré didn't come out of it clean either.
The Ivorian midfield powerhouse had hoped to use his height, long strides, and the physical prowess he'd honed in England to put the youngster in his place.
What he didn't expect was just how ridiculously strong Li Ang's core was. Even after being shoved aside slightly on first contact, Li Ang held his ground and stuck to Touré like glue, not letting him turn or break away.
Li Ang, steeling himself, was determined to push Touré back and break up this advance.
In terms of size, Li Ang wasn't at a disadvantage. Touré and he were roughly the same weight, though Touré had the edge in height at 1.90 meters to Li Ang's 1.84.
But proportionally, Li Ang was stockier. That first collision had caught him slightly off guard, but he held firm thanks to his powerful core and well-set lower body. He didn't lose his position.
As they wrestled for control, it became clear that Touré's explosive strength was being drained faster. That's when Li Ang saw his opening.
With a sudden burst of force, Li Ang shoved Touré off balance, then poked the ball away from his feet with a lightning-quick tackle.
Modrić, already alert and nearby, immediately pounced on the loose ball. With a swift diagonal pass, he released Di María, who had been streaking up the right wing.
But this time, facing Gareth Barry—who had already dropped into position and cut off his path—Di María couldn't break through. He had no choice but to recycle the ball back to Essien, who was once again starting at right-back.
The counterattack didn't pan out, but the Bernabéu faithful weren't the least bit disappointed.
Instead, they erupted in applause for Li Ang, who had just stopped Manchester City's midfield general one-on-one.
Touré's expression soured immediately.
No one could tell if his face turned red—his skin tone made that impossible—but his eyes gave him away. The frustration, the shame—it was all crystal clear on the live broadcast.
A different veteran midfielder might've just shaken it off.
Football isn't a one-on-one sport. Losing a duel doesn't mean you've lost the match. If the team wins, that's what counts. No one would remember a single midfield scuffle.
But Yaya Touré wasn't that kind of player.
Even in his thirties, the man still had a hair-trigger temper. And it wasn't like he handled things much better at 33 either—his blowups with coaches were well-documented.
So he did what he always did: he doubled down.
Instead of using his ability to draw defenders to create space for his teammates, Touré tried the worst option possible—going at Li Ang again, one-on-one.
He wanted to bulldoze his way through the middle by sheer force of will.
But he seemed to forget—he'd already tried that. Speed and power? He didn't get past Li Ang. And now he wanted to beat him with skill?
Let's be honest: unless your name is Messi, you're not waltzing past Li Ang with footwork alone.
Touré was stubborn. Li Ang? He was thrilled.
Even when he got whistled for a few overly physical fouls, he didn't care. Not one bit.
City's offense lost its rhythm as Touré's engine sputtered. They had no more bite.
If Mancini had the guts, he would've benched Touré and rebuilt the attack around David Silva. That would've given City a real chance.
But Mancini hesitated. Touré was the heart of his team—angel and devil in one. Offending him might blow up the whole dressing room.
And so the match tipped further in Real Madrid's favor.
City's attacks were toothless. Tevez up front barely got a touch.
Meanwhile, Real Madrid kept launching counterattacks off of Li Ang's steals from Touré.
Mourinho had once admired Touré. But now? Watching him crumble on this stage, Mourinho could only shake his head.
All offense and no defensive responsibility. Emotional. Self-centered. And this was supposed to be the best holding midfielder in the Premier League?
Mourinho sighed inwardly. So this is what the Premier League has become?
Had you dropped this Touré into the 2004 Premier League, he would've been eaten alive by the hard-nosed midfielders of that era.
In the 29th minute, yet another counterattack came off a Li Ang interception on Touré.
This time, Li Ang and Modrić both charged forward to join the transition.
Barry and Javi García instantly found themselves in a bind.
Cover the wings? Risk Modrić and Li Ang storming the middle.
Cover the middle? Leave Ronaldo and Di María free to run behind the line.
Caught in between, one chose to protect the center, the other marked Ronaldo.
Modrić made the smart play—he slipped the ball out wide to Di María.
Li Ang, Benzema, and Ronaldo all charged into the box.
Di María didn't try to take on his man. Instead, he calmly sent in a low, quick cross across the box.
Li Ang and Ronaldo drew Kompany and Clichy away, forcing them to close down early.
That left Benzema, wrestling with Nastasić at the far post, to slot the ball in at the near side.
Joe Hart didn't stand a chance. Three attackers in prime position, and a midfield that had already been sliced open?
What was there to save?
Frustrated beyond words, Hart picked up the ball and slammed it into the turf, turning and yelling furiously at his defenders.
This time, his rant wasn't unjustified.
Kompany kept quiet.
But Touré? Touré threw up a hand and told Hart to shut up.
Still celebrating with his teammates, Li Ang turned and caught the scene.
And just like that, any lingering respect he had for Touré—shattered.
Yaya Touré wasn't the new Vieira.
He wasn't even close.
Not by a mile.
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